


The Truth About the Heathers

by captaincreep



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angst, Bulimia, Duke my sad bean, Eating Disorders, Elements from the movie and musical, F/F, F/M, High School, Popularity, Probably not going to have a lot of romance going on sorry, Short Chapters, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11715936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincreep/pseuds/captaincreep
Summary: What's it like to be one of the most popular girls in school? In my opinion, not so glamorous. The completely true, uncut version of my life. Tread with caution.(The musical from Heather Duke's perspective)





	The Truth About the Heathers

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic! I hope you guys like it.  
> TW for eating disorders. I started writing this because I was watching the musical and it doesn't take H.duke's bulimia seriously. Both scenes where it's mentioned, it's just a punchline. I found that there isn't a lot of fics that talk about it either- so why not write one myself?  
> Please don't read if you might get triggered by it. Otherwise, enjoy.

Westerburg High School. Sherwood, Ohio. Home to a gorgeous girl clique, the students that hail them, and the crazy kid in a trench coat. Even though it may seem very ordinary, the real brawl for popularity goes on inside.  
They tear each other apart for any kind of attention here- good or bad. Brutal. It's all the same to us. Brain cells dead, skimpily dressed, and venom spitting from the mouth; that's the type of girl we like.  
And I'm sorry to say that all applies to me. Yeah, I'm a Heather. And I'm not proud.  
To outsiders, we seem invisible to the ordeals of high school. We deflect all insults. We are perfect and polished. We have new boyfriends every week. And most important, we have God-knows how much cash. But let me give you a look into my life.  
I listen to everything they say about me. I'm not rich as I seem; I wear hand-me-downs. I spend hours in front of the mirror every morning to achieve my 'perfect' look. And most painful, the guys are only in love with the makeup. I'm just the network to get to the queen bee. She's the thinner, prettier, and blonde version of me. And a bitch. If you can get with Duke, the next step is Chandler.  
Today is the first day of senior year. I can feel everyone's hungry eyes on me. What's she wearing today? Did you hear about her boyfriend? Look at that hair. Did you hear what she said? She's such a bitch.  
I wasn't expecting sunshine in rainbows, but I definitely feel like a zoo exhibit. But no matter what they say, I keep strutting my stuff next to the other two Heathers. If I act more arrogant than I actually am, then no one will be able to tell that I'd rather be one of them. Normal. Whispering. Unglorified. Watching someone else take the crown.  
...

"Grow up, Heather." I hear Heather Chandler's bored voice on the other side of the stall. I can't see her, but I can guarantee that she's looking in her powder compact, applying a bright red lipstick.  
My head's in the toilet. My knuckles come out red and bruised. My throat is scratchy. I feel dizzy, so I start counting the tiles on the floor.  
"Maybe you should see a doctor."  
Heather McNamara. If I had to guess, she would be wearing a concerned look. Maybe she even stopped putting on her mascara to take notice of me. Out of the three of us, she's the nicest. Simply corrupted by fame.  
A third voice enters, belonging to Ms. Fleming. ''Maybe you didn't hear the bell over all the vomiting. You're late for class." Even as the counselor, she doesn't take me seriously. I tried talking to her once- never again.  
"Wait! We're actually all out on a hall pass... Yearbook committee." I don't know who this is. Maybe it's one of Heather Chandler's minions, getting us out of a detention. I peek from the crack in the stall door. I watch as a brunette who I don't recognize hands Ms. Fleming a slip of paper. She's the shortest of anyone in the room, wearing a skirt that goes all the way down to her toes and a scarf that obscures most of her mouth. Definitely not one of the girls a Heather would want to be seen with.  
Ms. Fleming takes a look at the false hall pass and hands it back to the mystery girl. "Get to where you're going." She sighs. I think she'd love to make us suffer through a week's worth of evenings. This must be so disappointing to her. She leaves without further question. We're saved by this loser girl, nonetheless. I pop a mint in my mouth. Ready to rejoin the others, I unlock the door.  
"What a great forgery," I gush, examining it. Instead of thanking her, Heather Chandler looks like she's about to spit in her face, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. How dare someone like her talk to us. "Who are you?" Intimidated, she holds out her hand to shake. "I'm Veronica. Veronica Sawyer."


End file.
